


Bloodlines and Dirges

by batty4u



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Brothers, Canonical Character Death, Funerals, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 20:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batty4u/pseuds/batty4u
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harvey hated churches. They always felt like a tomb, like if he stepped inside, his soul would never leave. Funny how he now stood in a church, giving a damn sermon to people he didn't even know, all because of the black casket surrounded by flowers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloodlines and Dirges

**Author's Note:**

> reposting this from my tumblr. it's two am and i'm having a lot of personal grieving issues, so Harvey is gonna vent for me. It's basically just Harvey and his brother trying to handle their father's death. That's it. no real fluff, no romance, no drunken make outs between him and donna, so if thats what you're hoping for sorry. its solely a sort of meta fic about the specter brothers. 
> 
> enjoy

He hated churches.

 

They’re cold, hollow, empty shells filled with false words and idols built on fear and unfulfilled promises. The pews are uncomfortable and skeletal, the saints stare down from the stained glass with empty, haunted eyes and he can feel his skin crawl. Every sound echoes, footsteps sound like thunder, whispers like a winter wind, the creak of the large oak door the smile of a reaper watching overhead.

 

He hated churches.

 

His hands clutched the podium as he stared out at the sea of faces. Hundreds of people stared back. He didn’t know half of them, some he barely remembered. Then there was Jessica and Donna in the second row, and maybe that was Louis in the fifth with his head bowed and his old classmates from high school near the middle and hell maybe his mother was even there, hiding in the dark corners like the sinner she is.

He was having trouble breathing. His suit felt too tight, collar choking him, vest too snug against his ribs, but Rene made it, so it’s perfect and he’s just being a child. It’s all nothing but nerves and emotions he doesn’t want to face. That’s the only reason his stomach hurt and his lungs ached, the only reason he couldn’t keep down breakfast and the only reason he couldn’t sleep. He wasn’t sick, he was just pathetic.

 

A soft murmur worked it’s way through the crowd, echoing off the stone.

 

Oh.

 

They were waiting for him to speak.

 

“I...” He cleared his throat and he could see Jessica’s eyes soften. “It’s funny you know? I talk for a living.” his voice felt foreign in his own mouth. “I get up in front of people just like you and I talk and talk until they ask me to shut up. That’s all a lawyer really is, a windbag with a good argument.”

 

There was a hushed laughter.

 

“But for the first time in my life I have no words.” He let out a hoarse chuckle at that. “I don’t know what to say. I could lie and tell you that things are going to be alright. But for some of us they won’t be.”

 

He saw Marcus curl further into himself, alone in the front pew.

 

“I could tell you stories, about a long time ago, but... It doesn’t seem right to. That’s for the wake, for the alcohol and singing, not for the,” he gave the room a scowl, “the cavernous room we find ourselves in.”

 

His gaze fell on the sleek black coffin and he felt his legs go weak under him. It seemed so simple in front of the mirror.

 

He cleared his throat. “Dad wasn’t perfect. He was flawed and naive and believed in the good in people.” as had he once. “He... He loved unconditionally. Something that is becoming very, very rare in our world.”

 

Donna looked up and met his eyes.

 

“He spent money we didn’t have. He took us places we couldn’t afford. He made christmas worthwhile, no matter how much it hurt his budget. He lied to us. A lot. Told us everything was alright when it wasn’t, told us the world was filled with… Wondrous things and loving people and I didn’t realize until just recently that it wasn’t a truth but some sort of meager prayer.” He shrugged. There was a churning in his stomach and he felt the sudden urge to hurl. He closed his eyes, willing his body to behave just a moment longer.

“Dad was an idiot,” he said shortly. “He was an idiot who saw something in the world that I still don’t see. He saw some sort of inherent goodness in people, in the city, in our country, in the world. Thought that love and a bit of music could heal any wound. And I guess if we’re supposed to take anything away from-” he couldn’t bring himself to say it, giving the coffin a weak wave. “Then it would be to try to see things his way a bit more often.”

 

Marcus glanced up and caught Harvey’s eye, giving him a pitiful smile.

 

“Sing more,” Harvey told them. “Sing terribly. Make bad choices, learn from your mistakes, make some more, and keep moving. And don’t let anyone tell you the sun’s not going to shine in the morning.” He managed a genuine smile, remembering his father’s bearded face with a ridiculous smile. “That’s what dad always told us. And that’s what I leave you with today.”

 

He nearly ran from the podium. When he sat back down next to Marcus, he took his brother’s hand and held on so tight, they both had bruises when the service was finished.

 

They wore white silk gloves when they carried the coffin.

 

Marcus didn’t faint and Harvey couldn’t remember being so proud of him.

 

Someone played dirges as they carried the coffin from the church, slow, mournful sounds of death haunting the damp air.

 

Then they had to do it all over again at the cemetery, the priest droning on about the god Harvey had never believed in and the God Marcus had finally lost all faith in. The people gathered stood like a murder of crows amidst the tomb stones, looking on with pale faces. Some of the women hid their faces with dark lace, three men in military dress.

 

The moment the casket was lowered and the dark wood could no longer be seen, someone began playing a familiar Jazz hymn. They didn’t let the priest finish his blessing, even when the robed man shouted. The musician just played louder as the undertakers filled in the grave.

 

A woman began to sing. She had most beautiful voice Harvey had heard in years, rough with age and full of passion and fire. When she sang, the earth shook beneath him and he felt himself hum along to forgotten words.

 

They all sang on the slow march back to the church, voices carrying loud and strong on the air, accompanied by trumpets and guitars and the loyal saxaphone.

 

They were silent when they returned to their father’s home.

 

When Harvey had left for college, Gordon had moved out of the city, taking Marcus with him. Their old house, and Harvey’s childhood, was still rotting in the Bronx. The house upstate wasn’t much different, small and falling apart here and there, old just like the man who’d left it. Harvey hadn’t been back much since college, a few holidays and some occasional visits, but his father had preferred coming into the city to see him.

It felt strange crossing the threshold of a silent house.

 

Their house had never been silent.

 

Harvey shook off the unease and headed for the kitchen, glad to find his father’s usual whiskey sitting pretty on the counter, still unopened. He opened one of the bottles and knocked it back, taking a few swallows of the amber liquid as it burned its way down his throat, bringing feeling back to his numb heart. By some miracle he managed not to choke and when he set down the bottle, a quarter of the liquor was gone.The wake wasn’t until six that night.

 

Marcus lingered in the doorway, looking lost and pale against the dark wood of the walls. Harvey offered him the bottle with a little shake of his hand. When Marcus shook his head he sighed.

 

“I think today is a pretty good exception to your no alcohol rule, kid,” he said in a tight voice.

 

A beat passed between them and Marcus took the bottle. He choked on the whiskey, coughing and wiping his mouth before handing it back to Harvey. “How do you drink that shit?”

 

Harvey chuckled and took another deep swallow before setting the bottle down again. “Pretend the burn doesn’t hurt like hell.”

 

The ghost of a smile passed over his brother’s face. But as the silence of the old house settled in around them, he sniffled and soon began to cry. He stood still, eyes downcast, as tears rolled down his freckled cheeks. Harvey swore under his breath and reached out, pulling Marcus into his arms. His brother buried his face in the front of Harvey’s suit, his fingers clawing at the back of his blazer.

 

The silence of the house was broken by Marcus’ sobs and Harvey’s pitiful attempts to console him.

 

“I want him back.”

 

“I know kid, I know.”

 

“I want him back!”

 

“So do I.”

 

“This isn’t fair, he shouldn’t… We can’t… He just…”

 

“Breathe, Marcus.”

 

“Why did he have to go?”

 

“Breathe-”

 

“It’s not fair!”

 

“I know kid.”

 

“Bring him back.”

 

Harvey clung to his brother until the shouting and the sobs had dwindled into croaks and wet coughs against the front of his suit. Marcus was shaking in his arms, small and vulnerable and Harvey wanted nothing more than to hide him away, fix everything that scared him. But even he, with all his might and big brother powers, couldn’t raise the dead.

 

He could barely stay on his feet while he consoled his brother.

 

God, he was pathetic.

 

When Marcus was reduced to whimpers and hiccups, Harvey let him go. He led his brother to his old room and helped him out of his suit. They had a few hours before the wake and Marcus was stumbling on his feet, shaking, crying without tears. Harvey got him into bed and sat with him, petting his hair and shushing him with empty words of comfort, until he fell into an uneasy sleep.

 

Then Harvey went downstairs and did what he did best.

 

Drink and wallow in self loathing.

 

He sat down on the kitchen floor with the bottle of whiskey and let the silence of the house settle back in around him, broken only by the occasional creak of the house or car passing outside.

 

Eventually, when he was sure no one was watching, Harvey let himself cry.

 

When the bottle of whiskey was just past halfway gone, Harvey’s tears finally stopped. Everything still hurt, his head spinning a little when he tried to get to his feet, his eyes stinging. His steps were mildly uneasy as he trudged through the house towards the room in the back. It had been marketed as an office or a TV room, when his father had bought the house. But the moment he and Marcus had moved in it had been converted into his personal music room.

The door swung open with a grieving creak and Harvey was faced with a dark room, filled with monstrous shadows and the glint of metal in the faint light from the hall. It took him a moment to find the light switch, wincing when he did and the room was bathed in light.

His father’s collection of instruments were scattered about the room, the old piano seated in the corner, the music still sitting dutifully where his father had placed it not two days earlier. The saxaphone his father had loved more than himself was tucked safely in it’s case, leaning up against the far wall, waiting for the musician who’d never play again.

 

“Jesus you had too much time on your hands,” Harvey muttered, wandering into the room, carefully sidestepping the various instruments. “Too much goddamn time and you spent it with this junk.”

 

He dropped into the vacant chair and sighed, taking another swig of whiskey. “What are we going to do with all this stuff, huh?” He asked no one in particular. “I don’t have room for it. Marcus won’t let me give it away. What are we supposed to do?” He laughed. “Man you’re an asshole sometimes, dad.”

 

Harvey sniffled, wiped his nose on the back of his hand. His jacket and vest had been abandoned in the kitchen, along with his shoes and tie. His suspenders were slipping from his shoulders, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to his elbows, collar unbuttoned enough to see the wifebeater he wore under it.

 

“You’re such an asshole for this,” he muttered weakly.

 

Something in the corner caught his eyes. It was a worn leather guitar case, with faded stickers pressed against the cover. Harvey could still see the Command Badge sticker he put on it to claim it as his.

 

“Oh my god you pack rat,” he said, setting down the bottle on the coffee table and getting up to fetch the case. His old guitar, the one his dad had insisted on buying for him when he turned 16, sat perfectly in it’s case of leather and red cushioned satin. He hadn’t touched it in years, not since he’d packed a bag for college and hadn’t looked back. The metal strings were cool and sharp against his fingers and he fought back another round of tears in favor of a pitiful laugh.

 

The guitar still fit perfectly under his arm, resting on his right thigh like it had always been there. It took a few minutes to check if it was in tune. To Harvey’s surprise only small changes needed to be made, which meant his father had kept it tuned for him just in case he had felt the urge to visit and play with him.

 

Ah the guilt and regret just kept coming.

 

Harvey got lost in the sound of the guitar as he plucked and strummed aimlessly at the strings, so he didn’t hear the soft footsteps until Marcus was poking his head into the music room.

 

“I see you found Susie,” he said. Harvey looked up and grinned, though he didn’t miss the dark circles that had already turned up under his brother’s clever green eyes.

 

“I didn’t think Dad had kept her.”

 

“Course he did. He kept thinking you’d finally take her to the city with you. But then of course life happened.”

 

“Being a lawyer doesn’t leave much time for nice things,” Harvey said, his words only a little slurred. Marcus nodded, grabbing the bottle and taking a swig. He managed not to choke this time. “You okay?”

 

“No.”

 

“Yeah me neither.”

 

“I’m sorry I freaked out on you,” Marcus said.

 

“Don’t be. I’m sorry I’m drunk.” Harvey replied, his smile wide and ridiculous given the tone of things. But it made Marcus laugh, as he hoped it would.

 

“I’ll be joining you just give me a minute.” He showed Harvey the second bottle he’d brought from the kitchen before setting it atop the piano. He slid into place on the bench and sighed. “This sucks.”

 

“It does.”

 

Marcus glanced at him. “You remember how to play?”

 

Harvey chuckled and strummed a few chords. “I’m a bit rusty but yeah.”

 

“You remember how to play Billy?” Marcus asked, his fingers running over the keys in a kind of reverence that only a musician has.

 

Harvey scoffed. “You remember how to play Billy he says.” He played the first two or three chords. “Like anyone forgets how to play Billy, yah punk.”

 

That made Marcus laugh, a gleeful little sound, and he began to play the piano, soft sounds growing in volume and energy until he worked his way into the opening of the first Billy Joel song they had learned together. Harvey hummed and counted out the beat with his foot, one two three, and he picked up the chords on the guitar and began to sing.

 

“Come out Virginia, don’t let me wait,” he sang in a low tone and he could see Marcus smile out of the corner of his eye. “You catholic girls start much too late. But sooner or later it comes down to fate, I might as well be the one. They showed you a statue and told you to pray. They built you a temple and locked you away-

 

“But they never told you the price that you pay,” Marcus cut in in a softer alto. “For things that you might have done…”

 

Harvey laughed. “You know that only the good die young.”

 

When that song came to a close, Marcus didn’t miss a beat before moving them into Uptown Girl, which had been Harvey’s favorite for years. They laughed when Harvey tried and failed to hit the high key at certain parts, passing the second bottle of whiskey back and forth.

After that They sang New York State of Mind at the top of their lungs, so loud Harvey was sure the neighbors could hear and would call the cops to complain, but he didn’t care. Marcus’ face was red and his eyes lined with tears not brought about by sadness. Harvey’s voice kept cracking from lack of use which only made Marcus laugh harder. His hands danced acrossed the white and black keys like they were born to do it and things felt right.

 

So long as neither of them looked at the lonely saxophone in the corner.

 

They stopped after Piano Man to take a breath and share the whiskey, their voices weak from song and laughter. The noise echoed through the house and it began to feel like a home again, so much less like a tomb that Harvey almost forgot why they were there in the first place.

 

Almost.

 

Harvey was drinking from the bottle, eyes closed and a pleased smile on his lips as they curled around the mouth of the bottle, when Marcus’ fingers went back to work. The tune was much more melancholy, softer, calmer, haunting the room and their unfortunate reality was swiftly brought back into place.

 

“In every heart there is a room, a sanctuary safe and strong,” his sang in a gentle voice. “To heal the wounds from lovers past, until a new one comes along.”

 

“I spoke to you in cautious tones,” Harvey chimed in, bottle still in his hand. “You answered me with no pretense and still I feel I said too much. My silence is my self defense.”

 

Marcus took a deep breath before he continued, and Harvey noticed the way his brother’s body relaxed when he kept singing along.

 

“And every time I've held a rose, It seems I only felt the thorns. And so it goes, and so it goes and so will you soon I suppose-”

 

“But if my silence made you leave, then that would be my worst mistake. So I will share this room with you and you can have this heart to break.”

 

“And this is why my eyes are closed, it's just as well for all I've seen. And so it goes, and so it goes and you're the only one who knows.”

 

Harvey looked up at the sound of stilettos on hardwood, while Marcus kept playing.

 

“Thought I might find you boys here.” Donna poked her head in, still wearing the beautiful audrey Hepburn inspired black dress she had been wearing at the church. She even had the lacy black gloves on, making her hands seem more delicate than usual. The only thing that was different was the tired expression on her pretty face. Marcus was still playing, but his voice had died off.

 

“Dad died,” Harvey said in a defeated voice. Donna looked like she might cry.

 

“I know, honey,” she said and there wasn’t a hint of mockery on the pet name she usually used for people who pissed her off.

 

“It sucks.”

 

“Yeah it does.”

 

Harvey offered her the bottle as Marcus started playing another song. “Want a drink?”

 

Donna smiled at him and slipped off her stilettos. “Sure.”

 

Harvey moved the guitar and she perched herself on his knee, taking the bottle and sipping it with a please sigh. Harvey knew she was worried, knew she had only come to see them because she was worried they’d do something stupid. Luckily, getting wasted on their dead father’s whiskey and singing until they were horse was one of the most harmless things they could probably do.

 

“Do you have a song you want to hear, Donna?” Marcus asked, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

 

“Play something we can sing,” she said and Marcus nodded, playing the keys idly as he thought.

 

Marcus played Cecelia and Donna led them in song, Harvey smiling when her voice harmonized with Marcus’ so well it was like they’d been made to sing together. After that they jumped from song to song until Marcus slid off the bench and curled up at Harvey’s feet, resting his head against his brother’s thigh.

 

“Do we have to go to the wake?” He asked weakly, sounding for all the world like the same five year old Harvey had found hiding under his bed during a thunderstorm.

 

“Everyone wants to see you,” Donna told him, running a hand over his long messy hair. “You don’t have to, but they’ll miss seeing you.”

 

“This is shitty,” he mumbled against Harvey’s trousers.

 

“Yeah it is.”

 

“You’ve got another hour or so, you could go back and lay down again if you wanted,” Donna suggested.

 

Marcus shook his head. “I won’t get out of bed again. I’ll wake up thinking Dad’s going to be in the kitchen making dinner. And burning it.”

 

“Oh god the man was a terrible cook wasn’t he?” Harvey chuckled.

 

“Remember that time you almost ate part of a knife blade?” Marcus asked with a giggle.

 

“Dad was prying apart frozen chicken breasts and the knife broke,” Harvey explained quickly when Donna gave him a scared look. “The tip of the blade got stuck in the chicken and it ended up on my plate. I caught it before it made it to my mouth.”

 

“That explains your inability to cook,” Donna said.

 

“Hey I make a great lasagna,” Harvey argued.

 

“And that’s it,” Marcus said. He giggled when Harvey messed up his hair. “Are you going to the wake, Harv?”

 

“One of us has to represent,” Harvey said with a shrug. “If you don’t want to you can stay home, or crash at my hotel room.”

 

“I don’t want you to go alone though.”

 

“Hey I’ll be fine. I’m big and tough or whatever, remember?” He said and even Donna laughed, pressing her face into his shoulder. “That sounded so much better in my head.”

 

“You’re cute when you’re drunk,” Donna said and he kissed her cheek. “But you’ve had enough. You have to be semi sober to chat with people.”

 

“I can drink more later though?”

 

Donna’s eyes were sad as she nodded. “Only if I’m drinking with you, okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Me too,” Marcus chimed in.

 

“Sure, kid.”

 

 

The wake was held at Old Lace, their dad’s favorite bar, where he and his friends had gathered to play jazz every thursday night. When the three of them arrived, mostly sober and properly dressed, it was already filled with people, milling around and chatting, drinks in their hands and the food relatively untouched. Harvey and Marcus made their needed rounds, greeting people they barely remembered, introducing themselves to complete strangers, trying their best to appear put together and strong. They nibbled at the food and sipped at their drinks and made as much polite conversation as they could.

 

Jessica found them after half an hour, pulling Harvey into a tight, warm hug and holding him there a good while. She released him and kissed his cheek before pulling Marcus into a similarly comforting hug.

 

“Let me know when you’re back in town, okay?” She said to Harvey. “I can send some work up if you plan on staying a bit longer to sort stuff out, but otherwise, you’re covered. If you need Donna to stay a day or two, that’s alright. I can get a temp to field your calls.”

 

“I’ll be home soon,” He told her and she gave him a sad smile.

 

“We’ll be waiting.”

 

It wasn’t long after Jessica left that the real wake began. Not that the polite conversation before had had been anything less than a wake. But Harvey, growing up around musicians and drunks, had been taught that a wake was a celebration, a real celebration, with music and song and dancing and far too much alcohol for anyone to be making good decisions.

So when the band, made up of Gordon’s friends, took the stand and a whirlwind of swing music filled the bar, Harvey felt his chest ache with a longing he couldn’t name. A beautiful woman got up in front of the mic and began to sing, the same woman who had sung at the grave, her voice filled with life and wisdom. After a verse or two of Too Marvellous for Words, she had the whole bar singing along and by the time Hallelujah I love Him So was filling the room, people were dancing.

 

Donna and Marcus dragged him onto the crowded dance floor, bodies moving with practiced, albeit drunken, ease across the room, voices raised in some otherworldly joyful song. Suddenly, it didn’t feel like the aftermath of a funeral. It felt like a beginning. It shouldn’t have, Harvey could still feel the cold corners of his heart stinging in his ribs, reminding him of the words he had neglected to say, the guilt that laced his every thought, and the ghosts that were already beginning to haunt his steps.

He knew that come morning he’d be fighting back sickness and tears because that one person who was never meant to leave them was gone, and not gone the way their mother had gone, but gone. Completely. Harvey would never see him again, never play baseball again, never sing with him, fight with him, hold his father close and just be for a few blessed moments. Marcus would probably be kept up all night by anxiety attacks and nightmares. He’d be making breakfast the next morning and would suddenly collapse to his knees in tears, leaving Harvey to take care of him, just like when they were kids.

Harvey was the man of the house now. He had to make his dad proud. He needed to keep moving, keep Marcus safe, keep fighting for his place atop the mountain. The prospect terrified him. He needed to believe that they were going to be alright.

 

Even if his dad wasn’t there to tell him everything was going to be okay.

 

The music told them instead, as it serenaded the three of them out of the bar, long past midnight, and carried them back to the little hotel where Harvey was staying.

 

That night, curled in bed with Donna and his brother, Harvey slept soundly, despite death lurking in the streets outside.

 

In the morning, he could set about being the man his father had believed him to be.


End file.
